Cracked Ice
by blc
Summary: Cracked ice and a real-life ice rescue leads to more metaphorical ice melting. B/B. Drama/Romance. Bones is the property of Fox & its producers. T for now. SLIGHT SPOILER S4E02, The Man in the Outhouse.
1. Chapter 1

Ice Melt

Ice Melt

The whole thing stinks, I was thinking. First cold snap in the year, and it freezes a lake surface up near Spruce Knob in eastern West Virginia, just in time for someone to dump a decomposed corpse in the middle of the ice. Some anonymous trapper called it in, giving the location but refusing to identify himself-- so no witnesses to interview, just a body on the ice in the middle of nowhere, a two hour drive ending with a never-ending series of switchbacks. And then she insists on going out on the ice before the tech team arrives, just because it's snowing.

"Bones, the guy's dead! He can get snowed on a little!"

"Booth, the remains were not frozen, the longer they stay on the ice, the more they alter from their original state! The sooner I get this done, the better the level of evidence we have to work with!" I hate when she's stubborn _and_ right, especially because the snow was really coming down. I also hate that I'm standing on the shore here, to minimize the weight on the ice, but she's right, it's better not to push it, and she is a hell of a lot lighter than me.

"Hey, toss me that tarp?" she called, looking up from her dictaphone, the camera set to the side. "I'm going to drag him back in."

"Bones, come on, just wrap it and leave it, we'll wait in the truck for the van." She shot me a dirty look, and waited. Fine. I went over to the kit and pulled out the tarp, then tossed it as far as I could. She walked over to get it, then returned to the corpse, shaking it out over the body, then crouching to roll it, efficiently, bundling it up and tying it off at the head in a matter of seconds. A sick part of me wondered how much of that was on-the-job experience, and how much of it was genes from her father. That's disgusting, I told myself, it's just efficient experience, you asshole. She bent over to pick up the camera, and slung the bag over her shoulder, then bent at the knees to grab the edge of the tarp, and began backing back toward the shore.

My inner sergeant approved Bones' use of the '_legs, goddamnit, not the back_!" as I'd often bellowed at my harebrained and groin-herniated recruits, but the rest of me approved the view, not the efficient use of her strength. Damn.

She was only a third of the way back when I heard a cracking noise. "Bones, stop!" She must have heard it too, because she actually stopped, rather than ignoring me as she usually does. She let go of the tarp, lowering the end she'd lifted up toward her slowly, so the weight came back to the ice gradually. When she let go, she turned and looked around.

"I don't see it," she called.

"Me neither," I replied. "But hold on a sec. Do you have any rope?"

She nodded, and I ran over to the kit, tossing the contents on the ground as I sorted through them. There it was, and carabiners already attached, thank God. I ran back over to the edge, and tossed her the rope. It landed pretty close to her, and she knelt slowly, then crept forward on all fours until she reached it. Of course Bones would know dropping to all fours reduces the weight distribution at any one point. She clipped it to her belt and I did the same. Thank God she's always calm in a crisis-- she waits until afterward to fall apart, just like me, except she cries or compartmentalizes, and I shoot or punch things.

"Okay," I said, "slowly now."

She made it about three paces forward when there was another crack, this one now visible, radiating out from where the body had been, and headed right toward her. She froze when she heard it, waiting. "Bones, it's right behind you, can you change your angle a little? Head off to four o'clock, okay?"

She nodded, and crept forward a few more feet, at an angle to the crack, slowing again to keep most of her weight off of the ice. I was coiling the slack in the rope as she came toward me. "Good, you're halfway Bones, keep it up," I called, as she kept moving forward-- too slowly for my taste, my heart was pounding in my throat, and I wanted nothing more than to yank her in on the rope as fast as possible. It wouldn't be smart, though-- better for her to come in at a slow and controlled speed.

And then, there was a hellacious crack, and the ice split so suddenly under and around her that I didn't even see her go under—I just felt the jerk of the rope, pulling me forward into the water.


	2. Chapter 2

When you're in the middle of a crisis, it's often a blur until it's all over, and your brain catches up with your body's response. You literally can't remember what happened between the start and the end-- it's almost as if you're knocked out, and only come to when it's all over, and everything's alright again.

And then, there are the crises where time slows to a crawl, and you're aware, hyperaware, of everything. You're thinking, and sensing, and acting, but it's almost like one of those out-of-body experiences-- you're detached from your emotions, and it's like watching yourself in a movie. It's always like that for me. I'm never lucky enough to just forget until it's over.

I'd been jerked forward to the edge of the water, landing face down in the now ice-filled water. I knelt up long enough to toss my weapon, jacket, phone and keys to the shore, then stood and waded out. I called her name, just in case, but I couldn't see her anywhere-- if she was conscious, she'd have come back to the surface already, there was enough ice floating that she could have pushed back through. I had to get in there-- I didn't know what was under the water, and if I pulled on the rope from here, she might whack into something, or hit her head from the angle of the rope. I ran out as far as I could and dove, the cold blackness like a punch to the solar plexus, knocking the wind from me. I struck out for where she'd gone under, the ice chunks bouncing off painfully as I pulled forward as fast as I could. No sign of her, still, above water, so I sucked in a breath and dove. The water was murky, barely any light filtering down through the ice and the growing dusk. I couldn't see her, couldn't see anything, so I pulled on the rope, hoping to God there weren't any obstructions, and that she was close by, and hadn't floated off. No such luck-- I reeled the line in only about five feet when it tugged, then stopped. Shit. I swam forward, following the line, and practically hit the obstruction-- a huge tree, tangled branches catching the rope. Fuck. I'd have to undo my line and hold on to the rope still tangled there until I could follow it to the other side and find her.

All this time, the detached observer in my brain was saying, _yes, cold water delays brain death and hypoxia, but it's been three or four minutes already, and you've been under at least a minute already_. I had to find her now, if I surfaced for air without the rope, I might never find her.

I pulled forward, holding onto the line until I reached the bend of a branch where it was caught. Grasping the rope and the branch, I unclipped myself, then grabbed the rope in both hands as I floated over, still looking through the murk. It was loose again on the other side, and I pulled, praying all the while there weren't any more obstructions. It was so dark that she almost banged into me before I saw her, her eyes closed, clearly unconscious. I grabbed her and kicked for the surface, my lungs burning for air as I broke through the ice chunks, reaching the surface. The back-seat observer said calmly, _the shore's over there_, and I found myself pulling forward even before I was done gasping for air.

As soon as I got the bottom under me again, I pulled her up into a shoulder carry and booked it for the shore, kneeling down to get her on the ground. She wasn't yet blue, but she was white as a sheet, and I could tell she wasn't breathing. Her pulse beat under my fingers though, so I started in on mouth to mouth. On the sixth breath, she jerked, and then choked, as I pushed her to her side and she started to cough, spewing up what seemed like almost a half-gallon of water as I pounded her back.

"Bones, good, keep coughing, get it all out," I said, holding onto her shoulder as she coughed, and then stopped, bracing herself with her arm as her chest heaved for air. "Atta girl, Bones, come on, deep breaths now," I said, as she struggled to regain control of her breathing, visibly struggling with the panic that would set off hyperventilation. "Deep breaths," I repeated, rubbing my hand on her back firmly, to give her something to focus on, physically. Too slowly for me, she finally slowed her breathing, somewhat ragged, but deeper and nowhere near to panic. As she drew a fully controlled deep breath, the world blinked back into regular time again, my brain kicking back into regular speed. She coughed again, spewing more water, which I noted was at least clear, and not cloudy or foamy or pink-tinged. When she stopped, I got up from where I was kneeling and came around to crouch in front of her. "Think you can stand up for me, Bones? We need to get you out of your clothes," I said. She nodded, then pushed herself up to sitting, then braced her arms behind herself, trying to push up. She made it up only a foot or two before she sat back down hard on her rear.

"Okay, upsy daisy, Bones," I said, leaning over and pulling her up under the arms to standing. Her knees buckled, but I still had her by the arms, so I grabbed her and pulled her into my arms, stopping just long enough to scoop up my things on the way back to the truck. She was shuddering with cold, so much I nearly dropped her when I fumbled for the keys to get the truck open. I managed it, and shoved her up onto the backseat, then crawled in after her, pausing only long enough to turn on the ignition and crank up the heat. I clambered over the backseat, hauling over the back with the towels, and blankets, clothes and food I always kept in the truck, as she flopped back into the seat, still wheezing and trying to keep control over her breath.

"Calm thoughts, Bones, deep breaths, count the bones of the spine, okay?" I ordered as I whipped out the towels and blankets, then sat back down and started to pull off her boots and socks. "Bones of the spine, out loud," I repeated, poking her until she responded, blinking and mumbling "coccyx, sacrum, L5..." as I pushed her back so I could pull off the coverall. I was worried about shock, more her than me-- at least I'd had a controlled entry. If I could get her to hang on to her breathing until I got her dried off and warm, I could worry about getting us out of here.

"T4, T3..." she murmured, as I pulled open the snaps on the coverall and pulled her up to sitting so I could push it off her shoulders. "_Core first, limbs second_," I heard my cold weather instructor from Ranger school bark, so I left the coverall puddled at her waist as I worked on her sweater and shirt, pulling them off and tossing them in back as I worked. Thank all the saints and the angels there was room in the truck-- I wouldn't want to do this in a Crown Vic. She was on cervical vertebrae now, her voice wandering off, so I poked her again, and said "bones of the skull now," as I checked her head for bumps and blood. She was getting shocky on me-- her pupils were dilated, her breathing kept getting shallow unless I reminded her, and her skin was bitterly cold. I poked her again, "Come on, occipital, parietal, what next, Temperance," as I finished palpating her neck and skull for injuries, then went back to the task of getting her out of her clothes. This was not the way I had dreamed of getting her naked-- furthest thing from it. She was wearing a heavy-duty sports bra, some heavy fabric, and it was soaking wet, of course. "_No time for modesty when the other choice is shock, girls and boys, save the embarrassment for later, when you live through it_," the long-ago voice narrated.

"Sorry, Bones," I apologized, "the bra's got to go," before pulling it up over her head, her arms unresisting, like when Parker's half asleep and I'm putting him into his pyjamas. I pulled a towel over and started chafing her skin, gently and slowly, so as not to precipitate the afterdrop until I could get her fully undressed. When I'd gotten her top half dry, I pulled a blanket around her shoulder and then pushed her back to lying down so I could pull off the coverall and her pants. Her breathing was getting shallow again, and she trailed off after maxilla, so I pushed at her again, "maxilla, mandible, keep it up, Bones, onto the teeth now," and she jerked again as I poked her, and ordered her to start with wisdom teeth. I got the coverall and her knit sweatpants off, judging the synthetic fabric of her underwear quick-drying enough to leave on. I picked up the discarded towel and worked on her legs and stomach, then rolled her onto her side as she mumbled "canines, incisors."

I pushed her legs up, curling her into a ball as I pulled the blanket around her and laid another atop her, as I turned to myself. I was cold, not freezing, but if I didn't get out of my own clothes, I wouldn't be much help in getting us out of here. She was muttering off again, so I pushed at her hip as I ordered her, "muscles of the back, now, Bones, muscles of the back."

"Trapezius, latissimus dorsi," she started, as I shucked my own clothes, toweling off as I went, the friction returning some warmth to my skin as I wrestled off my boots and socks, then my pants and with one pang of regret, my sodden boxer briefs. Oh, well, not like she hasn't already seen me naked in my own damned bathroom, and my own damned fault at that. She was too out of it to notice, anyway, unresisting as I pulled a blanket up around me, sat back against the door, and hauled her into my lap, until she was curled up against me, skin to skin. "_Body heat's warmer than clothing when you're in an ice rescue_," the voice began again, "_naked's better than dead_."

I started rubbing her back with my hand as I curled up my knees to hold her closer to me, fumbling for my phone with the other hand.

"Rodgers," I barked, "where the hell are you?"

"Booth, it's coming down like a bitch at the bottom here, it's a crawl. I don't know if we'll get there, we may have to pull over and wait it out." Shit. I worried that this would happen as soon as it started snowing. It had been too damned cold, too damned long, and no sign that it would break. With this weather, the snow might keep on for hours.

"Well, pull over and radio the county. The ice cracked out under us and we're both soaking wet. I need them to get an ambulance to meet us, or something, the snow's thicker than a blanket up here. Get someone to send me the nearest hospital info, too."

"Over. I'll call you back."

I flipped the phone shut and dropped it, returning my attention to Bones. She was still cold, and clammy, paler than even her usually unblemished whiteness, her eyes drooping shut.

"Hey, Bones, no sleeping yet, not until you're warmed up, okay?" Her eyes jerked open, but she was unfocused, not really there. Her hands were like ice, so I tucked them in between her legs as I focused on pulling the blankets closer, and coaxing some warmth into her back and her chest. Her head lolled against my shoulder, her breathing shallow. "Come on Bones," I repeated, pinching her side hard until she jerked and her eyes focused. "Good girl, now deep breaths, okay?"

She nodded and started breathing deeper, a look of concentration on her face as I rubbed my hands up and down on her back and her stomach, from mid chest to hip, and from shoulder to rear. As I rubbed her back, and her breathing evened, I noticed something that had escaped me in the rush to get her warmer—as I ran my hands firmly over her ribs, up one side, down the other, I could feel the same callouses and bumps below the surface of skin that I bore on my own broken, now healed ribs. Except it felt like every rib in her back bore some evidence of breakage. I had to be imagining things.

"Deep breaths, atta girl, Bones, you're doing great," I repeated, as she continued to work on her breathing, her forehead furrowed and eyes closed as she concentrated. My phone buzzed then—thank God I had service.

"Booth."

"It's Rodgers. The county's tied up with a double homicide, there's only the sheriff and deputy on, and there's no ambulance out here—I'm sending you the hospital info now, I'll call to tell them you're coming."

"Thanks. Radio in and let the Hoover know the situation, ask them to call the Jeffersonian."

"Over."

She was finally warming, her breathing better, and she was rousing a little. "Hang on there, Bones, time to get out of here, okay?" Screw going back out there to get her kit—there was an inch on the windshield at least, and that was with the heat on. I sat up and reached over the back to pull the bag all the way over, then pulled out a sweatshirt. "Arms up," I said, and she complied, pushing her arms through the sleeves as I pulled it down over her head. I pushed her off my lap then, and pulled out the sweat pants, bunching them around her ankles, then shifting in front of her to push them up to her knees. "Okay, push up for me a bit, Temperance," I said, and she shifted enough for me to get them up over her hips before she flopped down again, her energy clearly spent in that tiny effort. "Okay, Bones, socks, and you can make fun of my sweatsocks later, alright," I said, mostly talking to myself as I pulled them onto her freezing cold feet. She still had circulation, though, and there was no sign of frostbite, so I just hoped that the seat heater's additional warmth once I got her in front would help do the rest of the trick.

I pulled the rest of the clothes in the bag on, patting myself on the back for adding an extra set of clothes once we started working together. Yeah, she was swimming in them, but they were warm and dry, and that was all that mattered right now. I jammed my own socks on then rooted out the extra pair of sneakers banging around in the back, then pulled on my jacket. I opened the door and backed out, pulling her door open and settling one of the blankets over the front passenger seat before hauling her out and settling her in, pulling the blanket around her before pulling the seatbelt across.

"Booth, you ok?" she rasped, as the movement jostled her awake again.

"Yeah, Bones, I'm fine," I said, "not even that cold." I pulled the rest of the blankets over, tucking one under her feet, and then pulling over a towel to rub over her hair—it was still dripping wet and I didn't have any hats with me, so I pulled the one remaining dry towel over and wrapped it around her hair, to keep the heat in.

"That's good," she mumbled, then coughed. I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a wad of napkins and put them in her lap. "Here, use these," I ordered, closing her door and coming around to the driver's seat. I flipped open the phone to pull of the directions, then left it open in the cupholder—Bones usually handles directions, but not tonight. As I pulled back onto the logging road, the snow falling so thickly that the bordering trees were mere shadows, she coughed again, then hacked, spitting into a wad of the napkins, and tossing it onto the floor.

"I must have inhaled half of the lake," she gasped, then coughed again.

"There's some water here somewhere," I said, rooting around in the pocket on the back of her chair until I found the bottle, then brought it forward and dropped it into her lap. "You should have some…"

"In case I start running a fever," she finished. "Do you have aspirin, or Cipro?"

I fumbled the armrest open, and pulled out the aspirin. "They made us give back all the Cipro after the anthrax scare was over. Here, hold out your hand," I ordered, as I thumbed off the cap and shook two tablets out into her hand.

She popped them into her mouth, then managed to unscrew the cap, her hands shaking as she lifted the bottle to her mouth.

"I probably will," she said, after swallowing, "my head's splitting and my lungs feel like they're on fire." She stopped then, her talking setting off another spate of violent hacking, and resulting in more water into the napkins. "Ouch," she wheezed, "but better in the napkins than in my lungs."

She laid her head back against the headrest, then started cataloguing aloud. "No lingering signs of shock, no confusion, just cold, but sensation in all the extremities, so at least that's something." She coughed again, dropping more dampened tissues to the floor. "Well," she gasped, "at least I got water samples for Jack."

I snorted, despite myself. She was fully lucid, so I was no longer worried about concussion, but her cheeks were turning pinker than merely returning warmth should indicate. Her coughing up even more water didn't mean she still wouldn't come down with pneumonia, and it looked like fever was definitely setting in. She coughed again, this time a dry hack, so I ordered "more water," then set my eyes back on the dark, winding road.

"Booth," she began, then started hacking.

"No talking, okay, Bones? Just don't, you'll make it worse if you cough." She just nodded, and lay back to rest.


	3. Chapter 3

There were six inches of snow on the ground by the time I got to the hospital, inching down those damned switchbacks over two hours that seemed like two days. It was a dinky little place, and from the outside, looked like it was hardly equipped to give stitches. But when I walked in the only entrance door, there was an older, cheery and competent looking nurse at a desk, who looked up and said, "Agent Booth?"

"That's me, this is Dr. Brennan." She stood and opened a door, which opened into a small room with twelve beds and what seemed like all the usual E.R. machines. Maybe this would be okay, and I wouldn't have to worry about a medevac. Like they'd send one anyway in this weather.

"Here," she said, motioning to a bed. I put Bones down, and the nurse pulled the blankets away, pushing the sweatshirt up as she pulled on her stethoscope and listened to Bones' heart. Bones just mumbled with the nurse lifted her eyelids to check out her pupils. "Oh, she's one sick little chickadee," she clucked, then called "Dr. Adams, hey, Kevin!" as she pulled the blankets out from under Bones and handed them to me to dump somewhere.

A young man in a doctor's coat hustled out of the back of the room, and took the other side of the bed, saying "Kevin Adams" without looking at me as he pulled off the sweatshirt and draped a johnny over her.

"You have any medical training?" he asked, as he started listening to her chest with his stethescope while he tapped it.

"Field trauma, first aid, CPR," I said, then gave him the run down. "No concussion or head injury that I could tell, no real bruising or broken bones. She was under maybe four minutes, out for almost five, but she came to on the sixth assisted breath and coughed up a ton of water."

He nodded, still tapping her chest, then asked "Was she shocky at all?"

"A little, but once she warmed up she was lucid until the fever set in. She coughed up some more in the car-- it was all clear." Clear water was good-- foamy or pink? Really bad, or at least that was what I'd been told.

The nurse had jammed on a blood oxygen monitor, and said "85, I'll go get a canula?"

The doc nodded, said "Please, Betty," and then got back to checking Bones over. The nurse returned and got everything hooked up and the tube in before my own gag reflex could set in.

"I'll go warm up the x-ray," she said, bustling off again to the back of the room.

The doc looked up and said, "If I had to guess, I'd say she coughed most of it up, but I'd do an x-ray in any event. Are you her next of kin?"

I nodded. We'd exchanged health care proxies a while back, both figuring that if we got hurt, it'd probably be on the job. Plus, even though we disagreed vehemently about last wishes, we could at least trust each other to do as the other wished-- not something I was sure of with my own parents, even. "She's usually really healthy," I added.

"That's good," he replied, as he walked over to a metal cabinet and opened it, then started rummaging around. "Here, catch these," he said, then tossed two IV bags at me; Ringer's and an antibiotic. He emerged with needle and tube packaging and headed back over, then took the bags from me and hung them on the post attached to the bed, threading the tubes all together and into a connector attached to a needle, which he slid in and taped down himself as soon as he'd swabbed her arm down. "She's up to 89 now, she'll be fine," he said, then continued, "there's coffee in there," jerking his head to a door on the side, then kicked up the stops on the wheels and headed back with her to where the nurse had disappeared.

I needed it, I thought, as I walked back into what seemed to be their little break room-- there was a couch big enough to sleep on, some chairs and a table, a fridge, coffee, and microwave. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and I was exhausted-- those two hours of driving through some of the worst snow I'd ever seen didn't make me feel any perkier on top of a dip in a freezing cold lake. I managed to pour myself a mug and make it most of the way to the table before my hands and knees started shaking, and I sloshed half the cup of coffee all over my hands and managed to sit.

That was too close. Even with all the scrapes we'd both gotten into, she'd never been seriously hurt before, never passed out on me, never stopped breathing.

She'd never stopped breathing before. I'd never had to watch her stop, and then wonder if she'd ever start again. I'd always watched her breathe, God knows, until I'd memorized each different breath in each different situation-- the way she sighed when she thought she was alone, the way her breath sped up when she found the final piece in the case's puzzle, the way her breathing would hitch, then relax, if I hugged her. I'd long stopped fooling myself that I was merely concerned for her safety, rather than completely obsessed and enamored. Because obsession? Yeah, that's a healthy thing to feel for your oblivious, headstrong, genius, reckless and innocent partner. Enamored wasn't any better-- I was completely besotted with every smile, every laugh, every frown of concentration, every annoying, know-it-all smirk and obnoxious correction-- it certainly wasn't something I should be feeling for the best friend I'd ever had, the one utterly trustworthy, completely honest person I'd ever known.

Up to know, it had always been things I could rescue her from-- people to shoot, gangsters to threaten, bullets to intercept, squints to hound until they could tell me where to find her, where I could see that one plume of dust to tell me where she was. Each time, I'd been in time, my detached, observing brain saying _there he is, fire_, or _there she is, stand and get in the way_, or _there it is, dust where all else is still_-- and each time, she'd still been breathing. Somehow, each time knowing she was alright seemed to justify still keeping quiet-- still saying nothing-- the fact that she was still really alive, breathing and focusing and taking everything in was enough.

That ice cracking open and just swallowing her? I don't know what was different, but it was. The emotional part of my brain, the one that comes out to play once the crisis is averted, had cracked, too, and was shouting at me now-- _Seeley, boy, I don't care how bad a gambler you are, it's not a game of chance anymore, you're going to tell her, because nothing you did this time could have caused or prevented what happened_. It was right-- if I'd lost her this time, and hadn't told her, if she didn't know and thought she was all alone in the end, even if she turned me down? I couldn't live with myself. She's good at compartmentalizing, I rationalized. Maybe if she's not interested after I tell her, we can still be friends, and at least she'll know someone cares more than she could imagine. Maybe she wouldn't. She'd swallowed my cowardly, vague "_there's someone out there for you_" speech in Sweets' office without comment.

"Agent Booth?" The nurse, Betty, came into the room. "Are you alright?"

No, not really, I thought to myself, but it wasn't anything she could help me with, so I responded instead, "Just thinking."

She nodded and came in, then picked up the mud I'd mindlessly set on the table. "Your coffee's cold," she replied, going over to dump it in the sink and refill it. "Drink up," she ordered, not commenting when I again sloshed half the coffee all over myself as I tried to take a sip. When I finished the mug, she took it back and smiled.

"Dr. Brennan should be fine, really. The xrays show a little water, still, but not too much, and Kevin's got her on a high push of antibiotic-- the fever should be down in another hour or two. Then she'll just be miserable for a few days, with a hell of a cough." She was talking over her shoulder as she poured me another mug of coffee, then came back to stand over me as she watched me drink it.

"Thanks," I said, taking another swig from the second mug and setting it down.

"How long have you two been working together?"

"Four years or so, now."

She nodded, then looked at me curiously. "You two have dangerous jobs. What happened with all those old rib breaks on her?"

"Those were real?" I managed, as a block of ice formed in my gut. "I... thought I felt something when I was trying to warm her up, but... I don't know. They must have happened before we started working together."

She shook her head. "Well, whatever it was, it was serious. Look-- we want to keep her down here rather than in a room upstairs, it's just Kevin and I here tonight, we were already here when the snow started. I don't know if anyone else will come in, but it will be easier to keep an eye on everyone down here."

I picked up the mug and took a gulp, welcoming the burn of the liquid against the lump in my stomach. "No, that's sensible," I said, then stood and walked out, the nurse following. The doctor was sitting next to her, making notes in a chart. As he heard me approached, he pulled over an empty chair. She still looked flushed, but her breathing was better, less raspy and deeper, so I said so, and he nodded.

"She should be fine. Betty mentioned the x-rays?"

"She did-- and it makes sense to keep everything down here, in the meantime."

"Do you have any idea where all those old breaks are from?"

"No, none. Before my time..." I paused, as something more than curiousity seized me. "Can I take a look?"

He looked at me, keenly, then made up his mind. "Help yourself," he said, with a nod to the manila sleeve on the bed behind me. I leant back and pulled them over, then slid them out carefully, trying to hold them at the edges, as I'd seen her do. "PA, lateral, ducubitus views," I heard her voice narrate, as I separated the three different films.

"Those are the..." he began to explain.

"Rear, side and perfusion views, yeah... not the front?"

"No, no need," he replied, looking at me quizzically as I held the PA view up to the light.

"Jesus," I hissed, involuntarily. Practically every rib bore at least one break, several more. Sternum and collarbone, one shoulderblade, too. I'd been working with the squints long enough to see most of the things they did, though there were things Bones picked up that no one else did. These, though, were obvious even to me.

The doctor cleared his throat, then spoke. "The only time I've ever seen anything like that was the time Stan Weston kicked the bejeezus out of Wes Marshall, after catching him with Stan's wife. Wes was in the hospital for two weeks with a punctured lung and a bruised liver."

I heard what he said, but didn't respond, as I held up the other two films. He took the PA view from me, holding it up and pointing with the capped end of his pen. "Mostly from the back, see? The frontal ones are cleaner, snapped, like from a..."

"Fall from a height," I finished. "The more calloused ones are blunt force, kicking or striking, like you said." He shot me a look again.

"You work with a bone doctor for four years, some of it inevitably sinks in," I offered, taking in the sheer number of more calloused breaks. A completely unreasonable wash of panic swept over me-- stupid, since I didn't even know her whenever it had happened, and couldn't have possibly stopped it, or protected her from whatever it was. Somehow, though, the thought that something in the past might have happened so that we'd never even have met was even more scary than the day's events. Whatever happened would have been bad enough to kill her, and she'd never told me about it?

_Not fair_, my emotional brain piped in. There's so much I've never told her, though I knew that I could, that she'd listen. Somehow, after I'd first unloaded on her, and I knew she'd just listen, and keep on being my friend, it became less important to tell the rest of it. If I needed to, I could, but the past ceased to be as important as just working and spending time with her now. The doctor was looking at me as I slid the films back into the sleeve, waiting for some further response. I was saved by a buzz from my phone.

"Angela," I answered, getting up and walking out to the front entryway.

"Booth, Cam said you guys had an accident?"

"Yeah, the ice cracked and I had to go in after her." I paused, then continued, before she could start freaking out on me. "She's okay, she's going to have a bad case of pneumonia, but she's stable and we're all settled in at the hospital."

"Thank God," she said. "Are you two coming back tomorrow?"

I looked out the door-- there was at least a foot down, now, and I doubted the county had more than two plows for the whole thirty miles. "Probably not. They'll want to keep her here at least another day, and the snow's really bad."

She paused, and I had an urge to ask her if she knew what was on those x-rays, but I resisted it. If Bones hadn't told me, then who knew what she'd told Angela, and I didn't want to be the one to invade Bones' privacy further. "Ange, I'll call in the morning, okay?"

"Okay... Booth... take care of her?" Her voice sounded small.

"Always, Angela," I promised, hoping it was true.


	4. Chapter 4

I checked in with Rodgers-- they'd found a farm, and the owners were home, so they were all set. I couldn't reach Max or Russ, so I left messages, which was fine, since I really didn't want to have to answer to Max right now anyway. Rebecca started to cuss me out when I told her I might not make it back tomorrow night to pick up Parker, but calmed down when I talked over her to tell her what happened and put Parks on the phone to talk. When I walked back in past the little kitchen, Betty's voice called out.

"Vegetable beef, chicken noodle, or clam chowder?" I stuck my head in, and she was emptying cans of soup into some bowls.

"Vegetable beef, please," I said, coming in. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," she replied, sticking the bowls in the microwave. "There's food that can be cooked, upstairs in the real kitchen, but this is right here."

"Just like mom used to open," I quipped, and she laughed.

"Exactly. There's milk, a juice, and soda in the fridge. Help yourself-- Kevin will want a soda." I downed a glass of orange juice and then brought the doc a can, which he took with a "thanks," then bent his head back over the chart. Squints-- they're the same everywhere, I guess. "You took my vegetable beef?" he asked, as he continued making notes. "I hate chicken noodle."

"Sorry, Betty gave me a choice. You can have it..."

He looked up and shot me a grin. "Nah. _I_ haven't been swimming today."

"Boys, come and get it!" came Betty's voice from the kitchen.

"I'll get it," I said, heading back and returning with our bowls and some spoons. I was about halfway done when he spoke.

"So, I heard the short story. What's the long one?" He waited, expectantly, as I took another few spoonfuls. I took my time telling him-- I was starving, and putting together a more neutral story without all the internal '_you nearly lost her_' narrative was not as easy as I thought it might be. He just listened, nodding occasionally, not even taking notes. When I finished, he just nodded, then said, "scary."

"No kidding," I replied, then went back to finish my food. He didn't ask anything more, which was good, because I was panicking all over again just thinking about it-- he just handed me his empty bowl when I stood with mine and went back to the kitchen, where Betty was reading a magazine.

"Just leave them in the sink, for now. There's a library, back out the front, upstairs, and on the right, if you want to poke around. Our last patient went home around noon today, so there's nobody up there."

"Gotcha. Want anything?" She shook her head, so I left and headed up. The building was small-- there couldn't have been more than 15 patient rooms, upstairs, plus whatever passed for offices and an operating room. There was a larger county general, but that was another fifteen miles away, and I hadn't wanted to drive all the way there if this place would suffice. So far, it seemed like it would. They had all the usual hospital paperbacks, romances and pulpy mysteries, Readers' Digests' galore, and a couple of copies each of Bones' books. There wasn't a hell of a lot, but there were a few things I hadn't read in a while, so I grabbed one and went back downstairs. It was only eight, still, and although I was ready to pass out, I didn't want to go to sleep until she'd maybe woken up a bit.

I went back downstairs and took back the chair I'd vacated. After I sat, the doc got up and said "I'm going to work on some other charts in back-- give me a holler if you need anything." When he left, I pushed my chair around so I could prop my feet on the edge of her bed and look at her straight on. She was looking better-- just pink cheeked now and not flushed all over-- and like she was sleeping for real, so I just sat there, watching her, not thinking much, since I never really want to anyway if I get a chance to stare at her without her noticing. Eventually, she shifted and turned onto the side she usually sleeps on when she's sacked out on her couch, which I suppose is good, so I started in on the hospital's beat-up copy of _Persuasion_. I'd read it back in college for my general lit class and I think I liked it, but it'd been a while. Anything's better than crappy romance novels and mysteries that always get all the cop and legal stuff wrong. And now the squints had spoiled me on all the squinty stuff, too-- I would occasionally pick up a procedural that one of the guys at work said they'd liked and then get disgusted that the science was so off. She was raspier sounding than earlier, but it sounded like a bad chest cold, and when I looked at the oxygen monitor, it said 94, which I guess was okay, or at least the doc didn't seem worried about it.

I must have fallen asleep in the chair at some point because the next thing I knew, something was shoving at one of the feet I'd propped on the edge of my bed. "Booth," I heard, and came to with a jerk.

"Wha?"

"Booth," she rasped, pushing herself up to sitting, "you're going to hurt your neck if you keep sleeping like that." She crossed her arms, licked her lips, and continued. "Those chair backs are too low-- you keep jerking your head off to the side. Use one of the beds, okay, you'll be warmer, too."

"Nah, I'm alright," I replied, taking her in. She sounded like a forty-year smoker, but she didn't look any worse than anyone would with a bad cold. Thank God. "How are you feeling, Bones?"

She paused and thought, before looking straight at me and answering seriously. Because really, there's not a lot Bones doesn't do seriously. "Terrible, exhausted, alive. Thanks, Booth."

"Hey. Max would've skinned me alive, otherwise," I tried.

She snorted, and said "I doubt it. Just stabbed you or something. Skinning's messy, and time consuming." She coughed, then, covering her mouth, so I snagged the box of tissues off the desk and handed them to her. "Thanks," she wheezed, after spitting into the napkin, then put her hand on her stomach as she coughed some more. "Ow."

"Yeah, you're going to feel like hell for a bit," I began. Better she feel like hell than nothing at all. She nodded, then looked at the book that had fallen off my lap to the floor at some point.

"What are you reading?"

I handed her the book, and she smiled. "I like this one, it's one of my favorites, and her best one, I think."

"I read it a long time ago. Most of the stuff they have upstairs is trash, though they've got a few classics like this and your books."

She laughed, and then coughed again. "Glad my books don't count as trash, but I wouldn't go calling them classics" she replied, then took a look around at the room. "Small, but they have all the basics," she murmured.

"Yeah, just the four of us, though. One nurse, the doc, you and me. It's really deep out there, we might be here a few days."

She smiled, then snorted. "Just as long as you don't ask me to shovel."

I was glad she was in good humor, and not too cranky, but I'll take cranky over nothing, I reflected. But if she was making light, I would, too. "Aw, Bones, you know it hurts my shoulder when you make me shovel."

She laughed, a creaky noise, then started coughing again, the noise drawing the doc out of the back room.

"Sorry, Bones. No more jokes, I promise."

The doc came over and introduced himself, then raised an eyebrow at me. Oh, yeah, right. Let him examine her. I stepped back a few paces and he drew the curtain, and started asking her questions, his low voice answered by her raspy one. There was some shifting, and coughing on her part, and a hiss from her with another slight cough, and then some further discussion. He then opened the curtain with a brief smile at me, and stood back a bit. He'd unhooked her from the oxygen tube and the blood oxygen monitor, and shifted her IV bags to a mobile pole.

"Well, you two have saved Betty and I from a boring all-night game of snap," he smiled, as he took off his gloves and discarded them.

Bones and I laughed at the same time. "I'm actually a champion snap player," she murmured.

"She is. I wouldn't bet against her, either. She'll take you to the cleaners."

The doc smiled again, looked at each of us then, and made up his mind about something. "Well, I'm going to work on some charts and catch some sleep. If you need anything, Dr. Brennan, just tell Agent Booth to come find me. Agent Booth, why don't you spot Dr. Brennan while she goes off to the bathroom? I'll have Betty heat up something more for you two to eat." He pointed to the back of the room, then headed off.

Bones pushed off from the bed and landed steadily on her feet, then grabbed her pole and headed off in the direction the doc had pointed her in, leaving me to jog after her. When I caught up, though, she shot me a look and then took the hand I'd meant to place on her back in her own. Bones barely smiles in public-- holding hands is not a display she would usually be cool with.

She gave my hand a small squeeze before she let go, then closed the door behind her. If something as small as a hand squeeze could be reassuring, it should have been, but it wasn't, because her hand was too warm and sweaty, and her grip had been lighter than it otherwise might have been. It hit me all over again what could have happened, and I found myself leaning, back to the wall, knees shaking again, and sweating like we were in the desert, not in a snowstorm. I didn't hear the door opening through the blood pounding in my ears, so I didn't even know she was there until I felt her hand on my arm and a quiet, inquiring, "Booth?"

I opened my eyes to look at her, and she was wearing her waiting expression-- until she was seized by a deep hacking cough, and I had to push past her, throwing myself down in front of the toilet, knees cracking on the tiles as a wave of panic burst out of my guts in the worst set of heaves I've ever had in my life. She knelt next to me, one hand on the back of my neck as I heaved, the other circling my back as she kept saying, "Seeley, I'm fine, really, I am." The observer part of my brain was saying "she never called you Seeley before," but the rest of me was just listening to her say it, and letting her little hands soothe me.

When the hurling finally stopped, she patted me and said "stay there a minute." She stood, pushing off of my back, and then I heard the sink run as I sat there, panting, eyes still closed, over the bowl of the toilet. "Here, eyes closed, just sit back a bit, okay?" she instructed, pulling me back as she flushed the toilet. She was wiping my face with some wet paper towels like I was a kid, incapable of taking care of myself, and maybe I was, for the moment.

"Here, drink this," she said, pressing a paper cup into my hand. I took it and spat the bile still in my mouth into the toilet, then rinsed and spat again, avoiding her eyes. She knew what was up, though, and pushed herself up again, using my shoulder for leverage. Reaching down, she tugged at me, saying, "Come on, Booth, the floor's cold." As soon as I stood, she stepped in and wrapped her arms around me, one hand between my shoulderblades, the other at the back of my neck, pressing my head to her neck and her hair as I crushed her to me.

"Hey, really, I'm okay," she croaked, her voice and her breath raspy in my ear. But her heart was beating against my chest, so I decided to believe her and just listen to her breathe for a bit. I'd told her I'd let her give me a 'guy hug' if I ever got scared, and it seemed like she'd remembered, since I sure as hell wasn't the one doing the comforting, now. When my own heart stopped pounding, she let go of my neck, but still held on to me as I managed to loosen my arms around her a little. Bones always knows when to keep quiet when it really matters, so she just stood there, rubbing her hand on my back until she wheezed and coughed, jerking hard enough that I figured I'd better let her go. She stepped back and patted my cheek, then said, "brush your teeth" and walked out, closing the door behind her. I turned and greeted my red-eyed, snot-nosed, panicked reflection.

When I came out, she laced her hand under my arm, and led me back to the front of the room. Neither the nurse or the doc were right there, but I heard voices in the kitchen. She boosted herself back up on the gurney, then sat there, her legs dangling, as she looked seriously at me while I sat in the chair opposite her. "I'll be fine, Seeley, really. You're always in time."

"You never stopped breathing before," came out as a strangled whisper, before I could stop it.

Her eyes were still serious, but she kept her voice light as she said, "Well, now that we've both got this nearly dying thing evened up, we'll just have to agree it won't happen again."

I snorted, despite myself. "Well, I know better than to disagree with you."

"That's funny," she smiled, "I thought disagreeing with me was your favorite thing after pie."

I was surprised she'd brought up the shooting-- we hadn't really talked about it after we found out what happened with Zack, and I didn't want to press it and have her push me away when she was upset about Zack. Mostly, she seemed okay-- she'd let me drive her home that night from the lab, and made an effort to do more than pick at the takeout I ordered. But aside from being quiet that evening, and saying once, in Sweets' office, "I miss him, and I'll get over feeling like it's my fault, eventually," we hadn't talked about anything that had happened from the time Pam Nunan shot me until after Zack. And really, she seemed a little more... open, since then, so I especially didn't want to push at her.

"Actually, pie's third, the Steelers are second." She'd figure out what the first is, she's used to all the things we don't say out loud to each other. Except-- I wasn't going to be able to not say things much longer. Our unspoken agreement to leave our private lives mostly private, and our past histories past, wasn't something I could do any longer. She figured too much in my own private life, now, and we'd been working too long together to pretend like we didn't have a past of our own to discuss.

She smiled, slowly, and began to speak, but like a cliched, ill-timed interruption, Betty's voice came from the kitchen, calling "Chickadees, soup's up." Bones' mouth quirked wryly, but she said nothing more as she hopped off the bed and headed to the kitchen, leaving me to wonder as I followed her what she was going to say.


	5. Chapter 5

"Bones, you're pretty zippy for someone with a chest full of water," I grumbled, as she pushed away from her emptied soup bowl and the table, then headed back to her bed. I dumped the bowls in the sink and snagged the deck of cards sitting on the table and followed.

"Are you tired, or are you going to let me kick your ass at Snap or Go Fish?" she asked, settling herself cross-legged on the bed.

"Bones, I am the master of Go Fish, I have a six-year-old. Prepare to get schooled," I replied, hauling up and settling across from her. Of course, she kicked my ass four times out of five, but after an hour, she started yawning, so I collected the cards and said, "Bed time, Bones."

"You too, then," she replied, poking me.

"Bossy."

"You got it," she smiled, shoving me and pointing to the gurney next to hers. "Sleep."

"Yes, Ma'am," I saluted, then drew the curtains across the ends of both beds, against the overhead lights, and settled down on my own.

"Sleep well, Booth."

"You, too, Bones."

- --

I was back on the shore again, except this time she was blue, and her heart wasn't beating, and she wasn't breathing. I'd done too many compressions, in between begging her to wake up, and I knew it was too late, but I couldn't stop trying. The alternative was admitting the truth.

"Booth-- wake up. Booth. Seeley, wake up." I came to with a gasp at her voice, forgetting for a minute where I was. She was standing right next to the bed, shaking my shoulder as I jerked fully awake. "Seeley, shh, it was just a dream," she said, patting my shoulder." She came up onto the bed, then said, "Here, sit up a bit," then tugged at my arm until I did.

I managed it, staring at her, my chest heaving with panic all over again, but she pulled me into her chest, my head over her heart, as she wrapped her arms around me. She didn't say anything, just kept holding me until a deep, wracking cough shook her. A sob broke from me, and I lost it even as she was murmuring, "Shh, Seeley, it's okay." I started blubbering into the sweatshirt she'd changed back into, my sweatshirt, which now smelled like her, warm and alive, but I couldn't stop crying. She kept patting my back and murmuring nonsense until I finally stopped, wheezing into her chest while she scratched her fingers through my hair.

"I can't do this any more, Temperance," I mumbled into the fabric.

Her heart started to pound under my ear, her breath hitching, but her fingers continued their trails through my hair, and she merely replied, "Can't do what any more?"

The emotional part of my brain said _don't you dare chicken out this time_, and the observer started playing cheerleader, saying _she hasn't pulled away yet_.

"Seeley, what?" she whispered, her heart pounding faster under my ear.

"I can't be just your friend anymore... it practically killed me to think..."

"It didn't, though," she replied, still whispering, her breath ragged.

"It could have, Bones. What actually happened isn't the point." How far could I push this before she did pull away?

Her arms tightened around me. _Tightened_. "I know," she whispered. "Do you think that I haven't thought the same thing since your damned resurrection? What _do_ you want, Seeley?"

"Don't you know?" Oh, for Christ's sake, just say it.

Her breath hitched, and a long moment passed as she inhaled and exhaled deeply several times before she spoke again. "It's your line. You know these things better than I do."

It's my line. That's right. "Bones... I never should have... I don't want..." Oh, come on, spit it out. "Bones, I want to be... something more than your friend. Forget about the line. Please?"

She was quiet, a long time, her heart's pounding gradually slowing as she took measured breaths. "I'm not good at being... more than friends, and it would never be... casual... with you. But... if you're sure, then... I'll try."

My heart stopped for a long moment, then banged so hard I was sure that the doc and nurse heard it off in the kitchen. They could probably hear it back in D.C. "Really?"

An amused note crept into her voice. "I've learned not to disagree with you on the serious things." It was true, and I laughed as she threw back my words from earlier. We mostly just bickered about inconsequentials, these days. After working together so long, we usually agreed on how to handle the cases, and had picked up tricks from the other that made our work more seamless with each case's progression.

"This is serious."

"I know. More than anything else," she continued, then bent and kissed the back of my neck, loosening her arms just enough for me to sit up and look at her. She had a disbelieving smile on her face, and the ice still in my gut from earlier that day cracked and melted, all in an instant. This was happening.

She spoke again. "Just two conditions."

"What?" I'll take conditions, whatever she wants.

"First, You have to stop having panic attacks every time I cough. It will be very inefficient at work."

I laughed. "I can do that. And I can't possibly let you accuse me of inefficiency."

She smiled, slyly, and continued. "Second, if you ever, ever, call me baby, I will make you regret it."

"Got it, babe," I replied, as she smacked me. Well, I didn't really expect that part to change, now did I?

"Good," she said, holding out her hand. "It's a deal."

She wants me to shake her hand? No way. "Bones, shaking hands is inefficient," I growled, as I pulled her down to the bed and rolled her onto her back, my hand behind her neck as I finally, really, fully, kissed her. As our lips met and her breath mingled with mine, I could breathe freely again, and was warm, all the way through, not just for the first time today, but the first time in years. Maybe ever.


	6. Chapter 6

I woke at one point with her hair in my nose, the strands whiffling under my nostrils as I inhaled. She was still curled up into me, fast asleep, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. She was snoring the way Parker does when he's got a chest cough, but she wasn't too sweaty or hot feeling-- no worse than Parks' last flu when I tested the skin on the back of her neck under my lips. She was safe, she was breathing-- the rest could wait, I thought, as I pulled her closer and drifted off again.

- - - - - -

I woke later to her coughing so hard my arm over her stomach jerked away. She pushed herself up to sit, her hand pressed to her diaphragm as she hacked. She stopped after about a minute, then wheezed as I rubbed her back.

"You alright there, Bones?"

She turned and looked down at me, and nodded. "Hurts," she rasped, then smiled. "Sorry for such a rude awakening."

"I've had worse," I said, and it was true. Bones' hacking up a lung is preferable, any day, to having your encampment get shot up. I pushed up to sit, and snugged my arms around her waist, then pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. She turned and smiled, then gave me a soft, small kiss.

"I'll spare you my bacteria-laden self," she murmured, breaking off.

"Oh no, you don't. Like I didn't already make sure I got a full dose of your cooties last night," I said, then pulled her in for a proper good morning kiss. She snorted, but didn't pull away as I pressed my lips to hers, and she let hers part, her hand snaking around my neck as she responded, sweet but not at all shy. Wow. I was never going to get enough of her.

She pushed off the bed and looked at the mostly-full IV bags-- "They must have changed them during the night, but I don't remember."

I didn't either, and I'm usually a light sleeper, especially away from home. I could sleep fine at home, or her office, as long as it was the usual set of noises I was used to hearing-- but someone new, some interruption to the usual set of background noises, and I was wide awake, waiting for the next noise to tell me whether I needed to draw or not. Same thing with someplace unfamiliar-- one of the many reasons I hate traveling for work, aside from the whole cheap-ass Bureau per diem thing. Of course, in this snow, it's not like anyone was going to show up in the middle of th enight, but I hadn't expected to sleep so solidly. Bones must put me at ease.

"I'll be right back," she said, drawing the curtain back and padding off to the bathroom. It was still pretty early, judging by the light, so I went out to the front, rubbing the sleep from my face as I went. I stopped and stared as I looked out the front window.

"Almost three feet," said the doc's voice from behind me, on the stairs. "We haven't had this much in fifteen years, Betty says." He shot me a wry smile, then returned his gaze to the piles of snow outside.

"Any word on snowplows?"

"Talked to the sheriff-- they're hoping to get someone out this afternoon, but it'll be hard to tell. There's a lot more up in the hills and there are only three county plows. It just never really snows like this. Sheriff's calling around to see if anyone has their own and can pitch in. D.C. got hit, too, almost a foot."

"I haven't seen anything like this since I was a kid."

He shook his head. "I've never seen anything like this, ever. I'm from Georgia, I was shocked the first time I saw more than two inches." He snorted to himself, then continued. "We've got plenty of food and water, so there's no worries, and in any event, I was going to keep her here through tomorrow in any event."

"She slept well."

He smiled, but said, "Yes, but aspiration pneumonia can take more than twenty four hours to fully set in, and she hasn't started producing phlegm yet, has she?"

I shook my head. "No, still hacking and wheezing, mostly. But she's not too feverish."

"Still. She didn't cough it all up, and even if she had, the bacteria were still in there, so she's had all the exposure she needs. I'm going to taper the push a little, but that lake has a lot of dead critters in it, so I'd rather head anything worse off at the pass. I'll check her in a little bit. Any special requests for breakfast? I was going to knock something together."

"Bones is a vegetarian, but she eats eggs and cheese and stuff." He nodded, and headed upstairs.

When I went back in, she was on my phone, talking to someone and sounding like a frog. "Well, glad to hear you're all set. Give us a call if you need anything more, or when the road clears." She flipped it shut, then saw me. "Rodgers-- says they're still snowed in but they've plenty of supplies. He wanted to know if you want to have a snowball fight, later."

"Wiseass." I told her what the doc had said about keeping her anyway, as I heaved myself back up on the gurney, and sat back against the wall. Before I'd even finished debating it myself, she turned and scooted backward to sit between my legs, her back against my chest, and settled her weight against me.

She nodded as I finished my explanation, saying solemnly, "I had pneumonia once before, this feels like the same, more or less. It's better to get the initial antibiotic dose by IV, it works faster than an oral prescription. But he can give me a prescription when the roads are clear, and I can sleep the rest off at home."

I'd never known her to be sick the whole time we worked together. "When did you have pneumonia?"

"I was in the Taurus Mountains in Turkey, assisting with a Kurdish mass grave one Christmas, and we all got caught in a blizzard." She was so matter of fact about it. I'd been in the bordering section of Iraq, once, and it was damned cold in those mountains.

"You don't talk much about your trips."

She stilled, her breathing still even, then said, "Well, there's not much to talk about. It's recoveries, and report-writing, and report-giving, and logistics. Work." Way to be terse and vague, Bones.

"Who do you do the work for? You never said."

She turned and looked keenly at me, and thought for a long moment, before she decided... something. "No. I haven't. It's work, really. Though sometimes... it's hard to convince some people otherwise." She said it softly, her face reflecting some serious memory.

"How often is sometimes?" I decided to press. If she'd tell me, she would. If she wouldn't, well, she wouldn't, but she hadn't tensed up, or pulled away.

She weighed something over, then said, "Twice."

"Are you going to tell me about it?"

She turned completely then, to look me in the eye. "I assume by your sudden curiosity that you looked at whatever chest x-rays Dr. Adams took?"

"Bones, blunt as ever."

"It's classified. I can't really talk about it."

Of course it's classified. Nothing she does surprises me anymore. "Well, that's once, then. What's the other?"

"That, too." She held my eyes, then said, "Do you recall that security review at the lab, several years ago? It was cut short."

I did. That State flunky kept interrupting everyone while we were working on a case. I nodded, and she continued.

"She found out part of it, and ... they... shut it down. You're a better investigator than she was, and don't pretend like your own clearance isn't high. Angela... knows the countries I've visited since I've known her." Then she smiled, sadly and wistfully, and hopped down off the bed. "Bathroom again, these antibiotics are killing me" she said, walking off.

Well, she wasn't breaching confidentiality if I found it out on my own, and she'd clearly just given me permission to look. I'd hold off panicking about what she'd been up to until I found out more-- at least it gave me something productive to think about.


	7. Author's Note

Author's Note

**Author's Note**

I wanted to thanks everyone for their kind and generous reviews of this piece. I am definitely going to finish this, but things are getting busy at work and at home. I do have some half-chapters written, but between being slightly more inspired to work on some other shorter pieces instead, and being busy at work the rest of the time (pesky rent obligations, bah), it may be a bit before I post another chapter. Never fear, though. I will update.

I've been so pleased and delighted by all your reactions. I wrote these for my own pleasure, and have been having great fun doing so. That you're enjoying them, too, makes it all the more worthwhile.

So, thank you again, and I'll be back with something more on this in the next two weeks or so!

BLC


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